Pas de Chance
by InsanitySilver
Summary: A July night finds Paris tossed into chaos and two heroes scrambling for shelter. Ladybug takes Chat Noir to the only safe place she knows: home. Miraculous Ladybug one-shot. Ladynoir/Adriette


**Pas de Chance**

**A/N: **I'm the kind of trash who uses French phrases as titles. Also, I'm sorry that once the series actually comes out this will probably all be OOC and grossly inaccurate.

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Strong winds yanked at Chat Noir's blond hair as he crouched behind a chimney stack, holding himself close to the sooty brick. Ladybug shouted at him from several feet away, pressed into a window's alcove. Chat cocked his head, ears swiveling in her direction and straining to hear her over the deafening whirr of the helicopters that circled like vultures overhead. She gestured down into the narrow alley below before launching herself into the darkness.

Chat's gaze darted upwards, waiting for the helicopter to fly off before breaking his cover and joining her. He landed on the stone balcony with an uncharacteristically loud thud. Standing up, his muscles screamed at the constant torment, and he braced himself against the railing for support. He maintained conscious effort to keep his legs from shaking in exhaustion. Groaning inwardly, he leaned into the railing in an attempt to take some of the weight off his legs. Nothing pushed the duo this far physically since the incident with Hawkmoth two months ago, and he hadn't felt this nervous panic since the first night he patrolled with Ladybug.

His heart beat in his ears, drowning out the hoard of helicopters. Even his magically enhanced lungs couldn't take in enough oxygen to fill his muscles' demands. He glanced over at Ladybug, bathed in a green glow from the night vision lenses installed in his mask. Her eyes widened, tracking the helicopters above. By the way her usually fluid movements were reduced to jerks, he knew the stress affected her equally if not more so.

He took a step towards her, causing the girl to jump. "They know we're in the district," he said softly, trying to keep his voice level. "And unless you brought two pairs of clothes in that bag of yours," he continued, allowing himself a quick, pleasurable glance at her hips and the pouch that rested on them, "we can't sneak out as civilians."

Ladybug dragged her eyes off the dark clouded sky to look at him. A question forming on her lips when a blinding beam of light swept over the street several meters away. They jumped back, pressing themselves tight against the buildings. After a few tense seconds of darkness, Chat let out his held breath. The sound of the choppers faded, and he allowed himself a brief respite, leaning back against the wall and breathing in.

Ladybug walked to the edge of the balcony, surveying the dark street and leaving her back to him.

"We can't fight our way out," Chat continued, too tired to break from the wall and join her. "Even if we manage to avoid the searchlights until dawn, they'll find us on thermal before then," he said, watching her for a reaction. She didn't move. "Ladybug?" he asked softly, coming up behind her.

"That's La Rosa Bianca," she mumbled, staring at the little pizzeria across the street, topped by apartment lots. "I know where we are," she breathed mostly to herself. She turned to Chat, light eyes studying his face and biting the corner of her lip in deliberation. The faint but noticeable wail of police sirens made her decision for her. "Come with me," she said, jumping up into the night air.

Chat Noir followed on her heels. She landed on the rooftop in one beat and sprung up the next. Chat followed suit, ignoring his crying muscles and trying to lose himself in the Parisian night. With every leap, his stomach dropped. The hot wind blew past his face, tousling his hair. He landed. Hard. Cringing at the strain on his calves and feet before bounding after her.

Because of her luck-based powers, Ladybug— even in her weary state—landed flawlessly every time. Chat, although the magic enhanced his body equally, didn't possess Ladybug's luck. And while his powers of bad luck mainly affected others, he was convinced the terracotta tiles wanted him dead. They almost succeeded in their assassination attempts several times already. Slipping out from under him right as he put his weight on them.

Ladybug vaulted over a wall, disappearing from view. Chat mimicked the action, landing on a flat roof. Ladybug stood several meters away, digging through her pouch for god-knows-what. He straightened likewise and surveyed the garden terrace with curiosity.

The sirens crescendoed, and Chat cocked his head, closing his eyes. His ears flicked around. He opened his eyes, and stepped towards Ladybug. "The choppers are coming back," he said, keeping his ears trained on the loudening whirr that heralded their approach.

She nodded and continued to dig through her bag.

Chat's eyes strayed to the glowing café sign across the street. He frowned. He recognized that café. It sat two blocks away from his school. His ears twitched in irritation. This would be _all_ the kids talked about until school reconvened in September.

"Got it!" Ladybug whispered triumphantly, holding up a flash of small metal in the moonlight. Before Chat could ask what it was, she crouched down, unlocking the rectangular hatch.

His pale eyes widened as he processed this new information. Was this _her_ house? Ladybug's house? He'd spent countless hours idly wondering about her residence and even made some— admittedly suggestive— comments for her to show him. She refused out-right every time, but now…

The sirens wailed louder, and he could see the flashing blue and red lights as they turned the street corner. The wind picked up again as the helicopters neared. Ladybug threw open the hatch, jumping into the dark hole. Chat flung himself onto the ladder, pulling the hatch down behind him. He loosened his grip on the wooden ladder and slid down the sides with ease. He shifted his weight to the floor, finding out too late that it wasn't floor at all. The mattress caved under him, forcing him to grab a hold of the rungs to keep from falling.

Hot pain bit into his hand, and he yanked it off the ladder. Clenching his wrist, he turned to Ladybug. "You wouldn't happen to have any band-aids on hand, would you?" he asked with a wince.

"You're hurt," she stated, eyes wide.

"Just a scratch from when I tried to grab that piece of sheet metal," he said, leaning against the ladder. He willed himself to ignore it until now, but since they escaped immediate danger the pain-numbing adrenaline began wearing off.

Chat released his wrist, popping the snaps that attached his gloves to the rest of his suit. Cringing, he pealed the black leather off, accidentally opening the wound in the process. A bright red gash streaked across his palm. Ladybug gasped.

"That was hours ago," she said, unable to rip her eyes off his bleeding hand.

"It doesn't feel as bad as it looks," he admitted, still wincing,

Ladybug watched him examine his bare hand, pale skin standing out amongst the black leather. She'd never seen his hands before, or any bare skin besides his face, excepting for the time he'd played with the tab on his zipper in a lame attempt at seduction. She banished that particular memory from her mind and refocused on his hand. It was surreal in a way. In her mind Chat Noir was an entity that only existed in evening escapades and midnight patrols. An accessory of the night like the moon and stars. When day broke, he ceased to exist. Seeing his bare hand now forced her to confront the truth: there was a real, breathing human under all that tight leather. He had another life outside of protecting Paris and harassing her. Who even was Chat Noir? Was he in high school like her? College? Did he have a job? Plans for the future? Family? Friends?

His looming proximity jolted her out of her thoughts. Chat leaned forward until their foreheads touched. His hot breath tickled her nose. "Am I really that mesmerizing?" he all but purred.

Groaning, Ladybug pushed him back and rolled her eyes. "You stay here," she said in her best authoritative tone. "I'll go get bandages," she said and disappeared out the door. She couldn't let Chat see the rest of the house or the bakery. If he found out her secret identity then he'd harass her in real life too, and _that_ would be a nightmare.

The door clicked behind her, leaving Chat Noir in the dark room alone. Curiously, he took in his surroundings. Who knew the next time he'd make it into her bedroom? His incessant flirting hadn't gotten him anywhere with her. He still remembered the first time he saw her.

It'd been several days after he'd received his powers on a chilly February evening; he thought he'd gone mad for deciding to patrol Paris like some vigilante-wannabe. But then, there in the distance, a slim figure bounding over rooftops with as much ease as he did. Impossible. No one else could have the same insane idea. Enthralled, he chased her. When he found out about her luck-based powers, he'd only been captivated more.

In the six months afterwards, their relationship progressed from antagonistic to friendly though he kept pushing for something more. Ladybug was an enigma. A puzzle. Who was she? Was she always so confident? Did she have the same element of duality to her personality that Chat Noir and Adrien did? Did her friends know her secret? Did her family? How did she explain the bruises to them? Or why she couldn't go to see a movie Friday night? Favorite food? Worst fear? What songs did she listen to after a hard day? What never failed to make her laugh? Why on earth one February night did she also decide to use her powers to protect Paris? All these things Chat asked her, but she never answered.

He couldn't help but explore her bedroom because of the mystery surrounding her. With his right hand, he reached up to his mask and deactivated his night vision lenses. There. Now that everything wasn't green and didn't look like a set straight out of a paranormal investigation shows, he could finally get a little exploring done.

A small kitchenette sat in the opposite corner, refrigerator humming softly. Next to it looked like…a sewing station? Bolts of fabric leaned against the wall, and he fancied he saw a hint of red vinyl among the various patterned cottons. On the other side of the kitchenette sat a desk overflowing with art supplies and painted canvases. He idly wondered whether he'd made it into any of her drawings. A low table by his legs held a sleeping Mac and piles of textbooks. Summer homework? Nearby rested a rather large… Chat's eyes widened and a smug grin spread across his face. Oh, he'd be sure to mention _that_ later.

Red polka-dot curtains framed her window. How fitting. Moonlight mixed with golden city lights, providing the room's sole source of illumination. He sauntered over to the window, leaning against the frame as he studied the view. The street lamps flickered, but no one except the police left home at this hour. The room vibrated as a helicopter flew close overhead. A swarm of police cars raced down the street, painting the surrounding buildings blue and red before vanishing from view.

His stomach twisted at the grim reminder of their predicament, and he shrunk back from the window. His ears twisted towards the door as he heard the faint sounds of someone ascending a set of stairs. Chat scanned the room. He couldn't let her come in to find him standing around awkwardly. It wasn't Chat Noir'ish. He spotted her bed behind him and hesitated for a moment. Adrien wouldn't do it. Adrien would stand in one spot, feet together with hands clasped behind his back projecting an air of cool disinterest. Chat Noir, however, was not Adrien, and decided to drape himself across her futon in the most seductive way possible.

His sore muscles ached, but no band-aid would help that. He knew from experience. He remembered a seven-year-old Adrien sitting on the couch, massaging his tired legs while his father chatted with his coach several meters away. His father urged the coach to increase the length of Adrien's practices. The coach refused. The promises of getting him onto the French Olympic gymnastics team by the age of seventeen seemed hollow now. A ruptured Achilles tendon and three months in a cast killed that dream. Even the surgery and countless physical therapy sessions hadn't been able to restore full range of motion. Why then, did his father act like he was the injured one?

Then six months ago, a spirit granted Adrien dominion over bad luck, enhancing his body and healing the old injury in the process. Like hell he was going to tell his father about though. Despite the slew of bad memories, Chat was grateful for those hours drilling flips and hand springs because they now allowed him to keep up with Ladybug on their rooftop escapades.

Ladybug pushed the door open, cradling a bundle of medical supplies in her arms. "Get off my bed!" she sputtered, spotting him and almost dropping the supplies in the process.

"But my hand hurts _sooo_ much, and the floor looks _sooo_ hard," Chat whined, trying to appear as pathetic as possible. Ladybug scowled at him, and tossed the box of gauze at his head. Even in his exhausted state, he snatched it out of the air with ease.

"Just don't get blood on my sheets," she said, dropping the rest of the supplies on the small table by her laptop. "There should be a wet rag somewhere," she said absently, retreating for the window. Chat grabbed the damp washcloth off the table, staring at it for a moment. An idea struck him…but did he like her enough to…? A smirk snuck onto his face. Of course he did.

Ladybug leaned against the window, oblivious to the fact that Chat did the same thing minutes ago. She could see the helicopters flooding a building with searchlights several blocks away. She sighed, running a hand through her mess of dark hair. What were they going to do? How could they possibly clear all this up? She was only a teenager. It was like an ant trying to move a mountain.

"Chat, what are we going to do about th—" she started to ask, turning around to find Chat Noir scrubbing at his hand as if the laceration were a stain of dirt he could wipe away.

"What are you doing‽" she asked aghast and ran over to him.

"Cleaning the wound," he said innocently and continued to rub, only making the bleeding worse.

"That's not how you clean a wound!" she said, grabbing his wrist to get him to stop.

"Yes, it is," he insisted, trying to separate his wrist from hers.

"No Chat, it's not," she said with a sigh, taking the red-stained washcloth from him. "Give me a minute and I'll show you. Make yourself useful and get the gauze ready," she said, heading towards the sink. Right before she vanished behind the painted room divider, she swore she saw a wide grin split his face. Impossible. She shook off the thought as she washed the rag, and wrung out the excess water.

When she returned all signs of that phantom smirk vanished. She sat on her computer table across from him so close that their knees brushed.

Chat Noir eyed her curiously as she held out her hand. Exhausted, anxious, and in no mood for Chat's games, Ladybug took his hand and dabbed around the cut. She could feel the heat from his skin even through her gloves.

Chat used every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep the victory grin off his face. The moment of pain had been worth it. Even so, he jerked involuntarily as she brushed the center of the injury.

"Sorry," she mumbled, wiping away the last of the blood. Through the dull pain, Chat treasured the sensation of her slight fingertips brushing over his exposed skin. She rubbed antibiotic ointment on a sterile pad, gingerly placing it on top of the crimson gash.

As she started to wrap the gauze around his hand, he felt his initial satisfaction growing into frustration. He frowned and his ear pressed down on his head. Why couldn't every day be like this? This intimacy? This closeness? Adrien never got it from family, and he wasn't the "friend" type, though that ditz Marinette's insisted otherwise. He tried to pretend it didn't bother him. Tried to pretend meaningful relationships in his life would be an inconvenience. It made his soul ache. A soreness and longing deeper than muscle and bone. That entire façade collapsed when he became Chat Noir, as evidenced by his constant and relentless pursuit of Ladybug and her affections.

Noticing his tensing muscles, Ladybug looked up from her work to his face. "Am I wrapping it too tight?" she asked, concern coloring her tired eyes.

"No," Chat said a bit too quickly. Ladybug recognized his change in demeanor, but didn't possess the strength to act on it. Chat's quick changes in temperament were nothing new. With a mental shrug, she continued wrapping the soft bandages around his palm. He wouldn't be able to wear gloves for several days thanks to its thickness.

Chat elected to ignore the transience of this moment's intimacy, instead focusing on the object of his fixation as she dressed his wounds. He watched her face grow dark, probably reflecting on the events of this evening. He frowned again at that. He hated seeing the confident hero this shaken. It wasn't like her.

"So…" he started casually, lounging back just enough so that his hand still stayed clutched between Ladybug's. "You have a cat," he said, lips splitting into a wicked grin.

"What?" she asked, pausing for a moment to look at him.

With his free hand he pointed to the cat bed he'd noticed earlier. "You just can't resist them, can you?" he asked, smile stretching wider.

With a frown, she resumed wrapping the gauze with a bit more vigor than before.

"I bet he's black too, isn't he?" Chat asked, and when she didn't respond he grinned even wider, cheeks pushing up at the corners of his smug eyes and sharp incisors brushing his bottom lip as he showed a full set of teeth. His tail flicked mischievously on the bed behind him. "You know what that means?" he asked in a whisper, leaning forward again. She refused to look up, so he tilted his head in, lips brushing her ear.

"Animal magnetism."

At that she yanked the gauze tight, causing him to yelp in pain and jump back, hitting his head against the wall.

Ladybug grinned at that. Served him right. She tucked the end of the gauze beneath another layer, reaching behind her to grab a paperclip off her table and clip it in place. "There, _that's_ how you dress a wound," she said, admiring her own work. "Wait a minute…" she said, eyes flicking up to his face as a scowl pressed down on her features. "I've seen you dress your own wounds before!" she growled, catching on to his game.

Chat rubbed his blond head, preparing to say something in his defense until the sound of helicopters filled the room. Books vibrated on the shelves, and bright light shone from the outside where the searchlights scanned the building across the street. In unison, Chat Noir and Ladybug launched themselves into the corner of the room, pressing against the wall.

Ladybug kicked her own pillows off her bed to make more space, forcing herself further into the corner. Chat pushed in besides her as the noise intensified. Picture frames rattled on the shelves. Without thinking, he shifted his body in front of her as if the window might explode. They both smelled like sweat, and a layer of grime covered their suits. Both pairs of eyes stared at the window, wide and unblinking. His heart raced inside his chest, and he felt sure the police could hear the loud thrumming even above the choppers' whirr. Their chests stopped expanding in a mutual held breath.

The light shone through her window. The space suffocated in white. The world stopped. Noise vanished.

…

…

The light disappeared, and sound returned like a crashing wave, drowning them. Chat gasped for air. Blue spots marred his vision. Beside him Ladybug collapsed against the wall. Physical and mental exhaustion weighed her limbs down until she lost the strength to move at all.

Their bodies pressed against each other, from the shoulders all the way down to their hips, and back up to their thighs. As he reigned in his breathing, he became acutely aware of the contact, but Ladybug looked too weary to care. The uncontrollable urge welled up inside him to take her hand in his, but he fought it. That wasn't what she needed now.

"It wasn't your fault," he said, speaking over the sound of his own heartbeat.

Her blue eyes met with his, for the first time wide and unsure. Tonight's events had shaken her more deeply than he originally thought.

"It wasn't your fault that police officer fell. You know it was a setup," he continued.

"I could've saved him," she mumbled, breaking eye contact. " If I'd just been a little faster…"

Chat raised a hand and gently twisted her face to face him again. "Ladybug, listen to me. No, you couldn't have," he said, looking her dead in the eye, "Your powers always stack the cards in your favor. You work in a permanent best-case scenario. Tonight we saw that even in the best-case scenario, he still would've died," Chat finished, withdrawing his hand from her face and placing it on her knee, discarding his earlier resolution.

They'd faced a new villain tonight. Wolf Spider. He had the cunning of Hawkmoth, Pigeonman's zeal, and Monsieur Mime's cruel disregard for human life. He orchestrated an elaborate battle, culminating in what appeared to be—to the cops on the ground—Ladybug teaming up with Wolf Spider and throwing a police officer off the Eifel Tower. The heroic duo played right into his trap, and now police scoured the city for the hero-gone-rogue.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, leaning her leg against his. "They think I killed him."

A thrill ran up his spine at the voluntary contact, but he stifled it to focus on her question. Moments of silence passed before he finally said, "Nothing tonight."

She stared at him, sharp confusion twisting her face.

"We'll lay low for a while," he continued, "the media will be all over this tomorrow, and they'll probably have the entire police force looking for us. Once that dies down, we catch Wolf Spider, and get him to confess to the police. He clears our names and goes to jail where he belongs," Chat finished, knowing he made it sound deceptively simple.

She nodded at that. The plan of action seemed to rejuvenate her spirits slightly. "I'll need to get you some normal clothes, so you can get home," she said, voice growing stronger. She pushed herself up and slipped off the bed much to Chat's disappointment.

Ladybug disappeared out the door for the second time, leaving a rather forlorn Chat Noir stretched out on her mattress. He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. Mission accomplished, but now she wanted to get rid of him. When the police found a blond teenage boy with the same build as Chat Noir walking home in the middle of the night, they'd take him in for questioning. They'd find the bruises. They'd see his cat ring. But perhaps worst of all they'd call his father.

Adrien couldn't let that happen. He need to wait until morning at least before he tried to make his way home, but how to convince Ladybug of that? He noticed her blatant attempts to keep him out of the rest of the house . She didn't want him here. This would be a hard sell.

Absently, he picked some of the books that'd fallen on the bed from the shelf above and placed them on the nearby table. Looking up at the shelf, he spied several picture frames glinting in the moonlight. Indomitable curiosity rose inside of him. Ladybug would be in those pictures without her disguise… He'd finally know what she looked like underneath the mask. For six months the puzzle consumed his thoughts. He always imagined their mutual unmasking would come shortly after she confessed her undying love, but maybe a sneak peak wouldn't hurt, right? A little advance preview…

The moment as he convinced himself to look, the door swung open and Ladybug walked back in, holding a pile of neat clothes. A pang of disappointment at the lost opportunity shot through his stomach.

"They're probably a little big, but they should work," she said, referencing the clothes in hand.

Chat Noir pushed himself off the bed, making his way towards her. "Oh, I'm hurt. And I thought you liked me in all this leather," he said, gesturing to his lithe body with a cocky smirk.

She groaned at that, handing him the bundle. "Bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left," she said, then stuck a narrow finger right at the center of his chest. "_Don't_ go anywhere else, got it?" she said, her eyebrows pressing down on her eyes beneath the mask.

"Wouldn't dream of it mademoiselle," he purred, brushing past her, letting his tail stroke the inside of her calf as he passed.

"You know I can't stand when you do that!" she shouted from behind him, and a smug smile parted his lips, but he didn't look back.

"I'm going to shower. If my skin is dirty but the clothes are clean it'll just look suspicious," he announced, closing the door before she could object. There. He'd bought himself time to come up with a good argument.

Two minutes time found Adrien staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, leather suit pooled at his feet. He glanced down at the garment, frowning at the coating of dirt in displeasure. When he made it home, he needed to clean it along with replacing the kneepads and some of the Kevlar in the chest area. Oh, and that piece of shrapnel sliced through the mesh venting on the side, so that needed replacing too. Sighing, he added up the costs. Six-hundred and fifty Euros would translate to something like nine hundred USD? A month's worth of allowance. Groaning, he ran a hand through his knotted hair. He could have the money in minutes _if_ he asked his father, but along with that electronic transfer of funds came too many questions Adrien couldn't answer.

Sighing, he unzipped his under suit, peeling back the polyester and wincing as it stuck to his various scrapes. A garden of dark bruises bloomed on his pale limbs and torso. Thank God for his habit of dressing conservatively. When he wore his long-sleeved turtleneck tomorrow in the middle of July, no one would be surprised to the point of asking questions.

Carefully, he ran a single finger over the ring on his middle finger. It hummed, flashing violet, and his suit, mask, and ears vanished in the light, leaving a dead-eyed, dirty, bruised, utterly ordinary teenager staring back at him in the mirror. Dissatisfied with his reflection, he broke for the shower, careful to keep the hand Ladybug bandaged dry.

Although going without his salon brand shampoo and conditioner—both promising a 'satin finish' and 'tousled waves'— distressed him, he tolerated the strawberry-scented drugstore shampoo because it belonged to Ladybug. There was a certain bizarre sense of intimacy in using her shampoo. Such a mundane aspect of life also seemed highly personal.

Adrien stayed in there for forty-five minute, soaking his sore muscles under the scorching water until it ran cold. With a wistful sigh, he flipped the lever off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom.

He changed into the clothes she'd given him: a plain t-shirt and sweat pants. Both too big for his lean frame, so they hung off his body and made him look even smaller by comparison. Combing through his wet hair with dripping fingers, he wondered to whom the clothes belonged. A family member? Roommate? Neighbor? …Lover? He shook his head at that. Absolutely not. If Ladybug was in a relationship, she'd reject his constant flirtation more fervently.

Running a finger over his ring again, his mask and ears alone rematerialized. Shortly after getting his powers, he mastered the transformation magic first. He learned to be selective about what he chose to don, and could separate pieces of his ensemble. Adrien could also take them on or off manually. How else could he wash it? When he didn't need his cat suit, he stored it inside his ring, ready to be withdrawn again at a moment's notice.

Still mentally crafting his argument, Chat exited the bathroom, sending a cloud of damp steam roiling down the hall in his wake. The drastic temperature difference forced a shivering spell to wrack his body, but he tried to ignore the goose bumps pulling at the skin on his forearms. Chat paused in front of the door, rehearsing his opener one last time before twisting the knob.

He took a big breath, words on his lips, and…there was no one there to hear it. She vanished. Wide-eyed, he scanned the room for Ladybug, panic bubbling up inside of him. Oh God. Had the police found her while he showered? He was in there for long enough. He could've missed it over the noise of the water…

Mumbling curses under his breath, he spun around one last time, prepared to go scour the rest of the house when he spotted a single leg poking out from the mattress behind the room divider.

At that he collapsed against the wall, placing a hand over his fluttering heart. This girl would be the death of him. After gathering enough strength to move, he made his way over to the bed. She'd changed into conservative pajamas during those forty-five minutes and, to his disappointment, still wore her mask. She lay sideways across the bed with limbs asunder, feet hanging off the edge. Loose raven hair pooled around her head and neck.

The sight made his snort, and he covered his mouth both in embarrassment and to keep from waking her. All that mental planning to convince her to let him stay until morning wasted.

Her right arm stretched out, leaving a large, tempting plot of mattress below it. He shouldn't. She'd kill him in the morning. What if her parents or whoever came in to wake her up? What would they think when they saw their daughter/sister/roommate/neighbor curled up with a strange boy wearing cat ears and a mask? He stifled a second snort. They'd assume she was into rather _questionable _practices. He imagined how red Ladybug would go at that particular suggestion.

Adrien wouldn't do it. Adrien would quietly take his leave, erasing all evidence of his presence. Chat Noir, however, made the decisions at present.

Careful not to disturb her, he crouched down, crawling onto the plush futon. He laid down near her, propping himself up on his elbows to observe her sleeping face. Her mouth opened slightly, breaths coming in quiet wheezes. Not particularly attractive, but anything was an improvement on that scared expression she wore today. He never wanted to see that look on her face again. All because of Wolf Spider.

The villain saw Ladybug as the hero and Chat Noir as the sidekick. A gross underestimation.

Both Chat's and Ladybug's powers boiled down to probability manipulation. Wolf Spider would see how terrible life could be when the universe itself conspired against you. Adrien could and would make his life a living hell.

He pulled a strand of hair from Ladybug's face, placing it with the other disheveled locks.

"He won't get away with this," he whispered, stroking her forehead, barely touching the warm skin. He ran a knuckle from the corner of her eye and followed her jaw, fierce and ceaseless affection pulling at his soul.

He supposed one of the initial reasons for his attraction to her was envy. She could use her powers on herself or bless others with them. He only used his when he wanted to hurt someone. Somewhere along the line envy gave way to awe, deepening his infatuation with her. A wave of weariness passed over him, and he pulled away from her face.

Adrien set himself down beside her, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing close enough so they touched. Her radiating body heat felt good against his chilled skin. He draped one of her multiple silk blankets over himself and carefully pulled the edge over her as well, creating a tent of warmth they shared. He smiled. The blanket smelled like strawberry shampoo.

In the window, the AC clicked on, filling the room with a constant hum. The sound of police helicopters and sirens all but a distant memory.

'Normal teenagers don't have these problems,' he thought to himself as his mind started to drift. Still, he paid that price to stay by Ladybug's side and keep Paris safe. He paid in bruises, and sacrificed free time. He paid in sweat and blood and failed history tests because he didn't have time to read the chapters. He paid in lost sleep and seven stitches on his torso from a rescue attempt that went sour.

But for moments like these, he'd pay that price a thousand times over.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, thanks to this fic the government probably thinks I'm a free running roofer who has a secret weed stash and expensive tastes in shampoo… Anyways, if you notice any typos or grammar errors (besides my collection of intentional fragments), please tell me! My tired mind probably missed a bunch.

reviews = love


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